Saturday, January 02, 2010

Darkest Winter

The Shrine to the Queen of the New Year has been dedicated following the festival of winter lights, soup distillation and snow drifts.

More lights and logs.

The snow has stopped thankfully but the freeze continues; I made up to a nearby form of civilisation thanks to the trusty 4x4, duly picked up a few ready meals, nail clippers and wine and returned for further fireside vegetation. Who says nothing grows in the winter?

Facebook, Twitter, text messages and daft web messages are keeping us warm and in touch, for sport we've set up a bed making and sculpture project: a kind of living installation that allows various tog quotients and combinations to be explored and then discarded whilst in the background the room temperature fluctuates wildly. In a more childish diversion I'm Twittering "sausages" regularly following some instructions provided by Ross Noble - it's a complex mind game. As things are bound to deteriorate soon I'm also preparing to participate in the "knit for Victory in the Yemen" campaign that will no doubt be thrust upon us sometime in the next two weeks as daft Gordon pursues more serial head nodding and hand wringing. The western world is headed for Islamic Hell in a Humvee and there's little we can do back here other than worry a lot, knit and make more spicy soup.


  1. I was wondering how you country folk were getting on out in the sticks. Even we urban sophisticates are finding it hard work to skid to the nearest bus stop so we can go to the sales and buy stuff.

  2. We don't really buy things, we just hunt and skin animals or grow stuff in jam jars then cook over burning logs. In winter we eat splinters from the great piles of sticks we harvested in the autumn. We would skid to the nearest bus stop if we could but the nearest one is in Fife,